The Gentlemen's Club Ch. 03

And then, in a pinch and having no other option—and holding a particular grudge against the righteous clerk who, truth be told, was very good at his job if unbearable in the process of doing it—he decided to target two birds with one stone, the young woman he had seen a handful of times and her self-important husband. This would give him an advantage over both; although not a particularly vindictive man, Brown knew how to obtain and use leverage. He had assumed the woman to be cast in the same mold as the husband, opinionated, headstrong, and boring beyond belief.

The bigger question was what the clerk would do when he discovered his worth. For now he failed completely to understand his value—but that would not last. When he realized what he could command, he would need to be brought to heel, which was where the wife came in. At this critical juncture, with telegraphing contracts coming down the pipe, a field clerk capable of closing deals—cheaply and efficiently, while avoiding invoking the services of the Collins' clan—was a commodity of highest value. True enough he carried on over-much about his religious leanings, but Brown was sure it was exactly that which led to his exactitude in securing land deeds and property easements with such alacrity.

Through it all, taking the long view, he never expected to feel anything for the girl.

Certainly, he would not have dreamed he would find himself knocking on her door at such an indecent hour.

After pounding again without an answer, it was clear she wasn't home. Her husband left just this morning—what would have her out at this hour, on the day of his departure?

As Brown walked to his carriage, studying the ground carefully to be sure of his footing, he saw a pair of deeply rutted tracks.

Fresh.

"No," he whispered, a sudden thought storming broadside into his foremost attention.

He remembered the meeting, a few hours before, the obvious disappointment as the blond giant of a man took a payment substantially less than he was accustomed to.

'The clerk,' the blond man asked, more statement than query.

'Yes, the clerk closed the deal,' Brown had answered.

Thaddeus Collins had left in a flash, offering neither his hand nor a departing salutation as he stormed out of the office with a very determined set to his jaw.

I should have known, Brown thought as he ran and jumped into his carriage. He cracked the whip quickly.

"Hagh! Hagh!" he called, urging his pair of horses. He could make it to The Visum in just under an hour, if his horses could bear the pace.

He only hoped it would be fast enough.

THADDEUS COLLINS

Sarah knelt unsteadily on the solitary platform, buck-naked. She jerked her head back and forth, searching for Mr. Collins.

Sarah was aghast at her predicament: she was on her hands and knees, centered on the platform, thick straps fastened about her ankles and wrists. Testing slightly, there was no way she could pull either her hands or feet any closer than they already were. She closed her thighs—that she could do—but at the cost of exaggerating how far apart her ankles and feet were. Her head slumped; great shocks of fiery red hair fell on either side of her face. She wouldn't cry—no, she most certainly wouldn't—but neither could she offer more than token resistance. Together, Mr. Collins and that damned Jennifer had joined together to position and restrain her so. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her discomfiture.

"First, I think you should demonstrate for me exactly what you did for my boy. What was it he called it? Praying?"

Jennifer snorted a derisive laugh empty of mirth.

"Yeah, she be needin' some prayin' tonigh'!"

Sarah took a deep breath and exhaled before opening her eyes. Collins stood before her.

"Oh my…" she said involuntarily.

He grinned.

"Bigger than you're used to, I take it?"

Sarah said nothing, staring intently at the Billy club dangling between Collins thighs. Although it was not erect it was long and resembled nothing so much as a fire hose, tapered so that it was thicker at the base than the tip.

"There now, you seem predisposed. I suppose I can afford some assistance," Collins said, stepping in beside the platform. Taking his phallus in hand, he brought the tip to Sarah's mouth, touching it to her lips. For her part, Sarah did nothing but stare, unable to comprehend an object so long. Of course her experience was extremely limited—EXTREMELY—but even a horse's member wasn't that much bigger than what was presented to her now. As she watched, the tip colored, a dark brown tinged with crimson that seemed to extend down the shaft. As it did, she detected a plumping of the shaft, not so far removed from stuffing sausage into a sleeve. She gulped, blinked away a tear.

This couldn't be happening.

"Open," he said, a small word with only four letters that carried the weight of the world.

Sarah parted her lips at the same time that Mr. Collins eased forward, placing the flared head between her lips. He stopped there and it was quite a sight: Sarah knelt on her hands and knees, a prodigious semi-erect penis poised to ram down her gullet while Collins stood, cradling himself with one hand. Collins released himself; Sarah felt the weight of it threatening to fall from her mouth and, no other course of action evident, sucked hard enough to keep the head firmly between her lips.

"That's it," Collins said, his voice for the first time expressing an emotion: Satisfaction.

"Now Sarah, I'm not altogether sure what you call this," he said, pulling on his hardening manhood enough to demonstrate what he was speaking of. "In the backwoods, we call it a cock."

Sarah gasped a harsh intake of breath around her invaded lips.

"Don't you like my cock?" he asked, obvious enjoyment in his voice. Jennifer laughed came from behind Sarah. "Why don't you pay tribute, as you once did here?"

Sarah remained motionless.

"Well then, I shall merely help a little. Personally, I don't like to call it paying tribute," he said, placing one hand around the nape of her neck, securing it so that she could not back away. "I rather prefer to call it what it is: suckingcock." He slid in, a motion that imbedded a few inches into Sarah's mouth. He stared down intently. "Yes, time to suck some cock, indeed."

Collins arched back before sliding forward again, this time burying almost half a foot in Sarah's throat. He gazed down, concentration evident in the hard set of his gray eyes as he observed Sarah's effort. Satisfied, he pulled back and gave a bit more, careful to hold her head firmly in place. This would be quite the job, embedding his full length between her lips—but he was a very patient man.

He had nothing but time.

*

Sarah had never experienced anything like this before—the insistent pressure on her neck, the overwhelming presence between her lips, the overpowering musk that emanated from Thaddeus Collins. When he entered her mouth she could barely breathe, she resorted to flaring her nostrils and exhaling forcefully before doing the same to draw in breath. Collins seemed to like that; he would pause, his 'cock' imbedded in her throat and watch her forceful breathing.

Sarah, for her part, held her eyes tightly shut. She tried to firm her lips as much as possible, to prevent entry, but it was a failing proposition. His manhood bent only slightly before plopping between her lips and entering the back of her mouth.

It felt an eternity, the slow motion back and forth, but really was less than ten minutes before a new, different thought entered Sarah's mind.

If he finishes, maybe I can save my Virtue…

She didn't have to fully flesh out the idea—the subtext was clear. If she could get him to finish now, he might not be predisposed to do more later.

With that in mind, on the next intake of meat Sarah opened her mouth a little more and flicked his lower shaft with her tongue.

Anything to finish, she thought. Anything to finish…

*

"Well, well," Collins commented. "I do believe she's eager at last. Let us see how strong her work ethic is," he continued, releasing her neck. "I shall stand here and, as soon as you complete this—that is, as soon as I fill your throat—we'll all be off. How is that for motivation?"

With only the head between her lips, Sarah looked up between her disheveled hair, searching Mr. Collins eyes for the truth.

If this man could even speak it.

She had no way of knowing, but she knew it was her only chance.

After a brief hesitation, Sarah arched her back and slid forward, encapsulating Mr. Collins now fully erect manhood between her lips. She felt her lips stretching as she approached the base, a stretching that was increasingly uncomfortable. More disconcerting was the presence, deep in the back of her throat, of his pulsing head, a hot iron that tickled her gag reflex each time she neared the base of his penis.

She would back off quickly, breathe, and then slide back down again. It became almost a challenge—could she take it all? Truly, his length was such that she was sure it should have been impossible but, eager to finish, eager to avoid that which she had been sure would be her eventual outcome, she gave more than a fair try.

"That's it," he whispered, and the sound of his voice made clear that he was enjoying Sarah's ministrations. "Suck that cock. Take it. Take it!" he hissed, wavering slightly in counter time to Sarah's motions.

Finally, inevitably, unbelievably, Sarah did it.

She took it all.

She quickly pulled back, sure she would vomit everything she had ever consumed, took a breath—

—and did it again.

And again.

She might have been attacking it, so forceful was her downward thrust.

The next down time she paused, forehead pressed against his stomach; her mouth flooded with pre-seminal fluid, the rampant cock clenching fiercely, swelling even more between her lips.

"Almost," he whispered. "Almost…"

Sarah felt it, the cataclysmic orgasm that she had worked so hard for, the sure knowledge that she had achieved her objective, when suddenly Collins stepped back and gripped the base of his penis with one hand.

"You very nearly got me," he said, face contorted. What was he doing?

Almost immediately Jennifer was beside him, replacing his hand with her own, squeezing very tightly. "Gotta save it for her," she said, giggling. "Can' let her off easy like, can we?"

"Yes. This proud bitch," he said, stepping away from Jennifer with his manhood dangling between his thighs, "is about to get royally fucked."

Almost inexplicably, Jennifer began laughing uproariously.

*

Douglas Brown passed by the last grove of pine trees on the left, which meant he was less than fifteen minutes from The Visum. His horses, lathered though they were, would have to make do for a little more. He hoped there was a footman working tonight; though, if his worst fears were confirmed, he was sure the place would be locked tight and his work only just begun.

"Hagh!" he called with a quick whistle. A flick of his wrist and the whip lashed out, urging his steeds to more speed. "Hagh! HAGH!!"

*

Sarah was exhausted. She knelt, hindquarters up, shoulders resting on the platform. She was acutely aware how obscene this position was—and powerless to do anything about it. Her large breasts rested against the cold leather, nipples shriveled tightly. Her jaw was sore, having opened and closed so many times the last days, and a bitter saltiness rested stubbornly on her tongue, refusing to dissipate. She heard them behind her, moving around, but could see nothing. Who knew what they were doing? As if on cue…

"There now, it's time to extract final payment. To be clear," he added, resting his hands on Sarah's haunches, "this is more of a down payment. Your husband has amassed quite a debt, and the matter of payment for my son's services is not forgotten."

A deep foreboding fell over Sarah—down payment? Quite a debt? Young Master Collins? It was too much. She shook her head.

"No," she whispered. Louder: "No!"

"I don't think you are negotiating from a position of strength, Sarah. I told you," he continued, raising his member and rubbing the head against Sarah's many folds, "that tonight I shall enjoy this very much."

"You… you can't," she blurted. "I'm…"

"—about to afford to another man that which you have no doubt provided numerous times to your husband. I must say, the good clerk has chosen well," he added, patting her rounded buttocks familiarly. "You are rather built for this. How many children do you have?" he asked, as if it were a completely casual conversation. He positioned his raging erection and leaned in, creating a small space where he would soon be doing quite a bit more.

"Snug," he said, almost irritated. He reached one hand down Sarah's back and pulled her bottom towards him, eager to plant himself.

"A fine filly, they got that right," he said.

Sarah knew time was short—he would be taking that which she had (unknown to her until two days ago yet completely beside the point) so far protected for her entire life.

"I am… a Virtuous woman!" she blurted.

Collins paused.

"Virtuous?"

Deepest shame came over Sarah at the admission. Her body colored in response, a crimson so deep, so ingrained, it appeared she might well explode.

"Well," Collins said, seeming to consider his words carefully, "it seems I should have the great privilege of not only fucking you this night—" he placed his hands on either side of her rear end, squeezing the pliable flesh firmly between his fingers, having nestled the head of his engorged cock between Sarah's outer lips "—but having fucked you for all future men."

Collins thrust, a harsh, brutal imposition of his undeniable desire between the deepest, darkest depths of Sarah's untainted womanhood.

"There," he whispered, thrusting again, struggling to gain purchase, "I will have you."

He thrust yet again but, as before, Sarah's body seemed determined to resist. It was the classic argument—irresistible force versus immovable object. Surely one would give; it was only a matter of time.

And temperament.

*

Sarah clenched herself as tightly as she could. Perhaps he would eventually capture that which she would not give freely—perhaps—but she would in no way be a co-conspirator in his efforts. It was a token resistance, all that she could muster.

"This is like a little honey hole," Collins said, fierce concentration evident in the set of his voice, the pressure of his hands, the impending force of his entry. "But like all honey holes," he added, thrusting and, for the first time, feeling a noticeable (albeit small) amount of movement inwards, "they always get explored in the end. Perhaps," he added, shoving his lower body with renewed vigor, "exploited is the correct term."

"Ungh. UNGH!" Sarah grunted as, not once but twice she felt it, the terrible pressure, and an impending sense of doom.

"Yes," Collins said triumphantly. "YES."

*

It was done. Never in her life had Sarah imagined a feeling like this, a fullness that threatened to overwhelm her senses and reduce her to nothing more than a shivering, quaking mess of wracked emotion. The finality of it—that this man, in this moment, should take her so, was inescapable.

Collins eased out before plunging in again, this time nearly burying his entire length. "Oh yes," he hissed, "just a down payment…"

Out and then in, fully sheathed inside the impossibly tight, irresistibly warm fuckhole that was Sarah Higgins.

As he parted her lips with his length again, burrowing his prodigious length into Sarah's deepest, darkest caverns, her mind raced back to that moment, after she had pleasured the son, when the father had stood over her and stared down, a look of stone cold certainty contained within it.

He had known.

He had always known.

"Up!" he commanded, pulling back on her hips. "Lift yourself, woman. I want to see those udders of yours dangling. They may be built for childrearing," he continued, leaning over and reaching down, taking the heft of them in his hands with his cock fully inside, "but tonight they shall be my entertainment."

He pinched and clutched in time with rhythmic hip motions, squeezing imaginary milk from the bounty of her robust breasts. "Yes, I shall provide the milk," he hissed, beginning to thrust a bit more forcefully.

Combined with her precarious position, Sarah couldn't escape the image of a small female dog, indelicately 'stuck' and being dragged around by a much larger male.

"Nothing more than a bitch in heat, that's what you are," he hissed into her ear as if privy to her thoughts. "Take it. Take it, bitch!" he continued, emphasizing his words with enthusiastic drives of his lower body.

Thaddeus Collins pulled back, hands clamped firmly over her breasts, capturing the nipples between his fingers as he sighed, quite softly, before descending on her with one final, bone-jarring drive

She couldn't bear to finish the thought—that, as a consequence of this act, she could find herself with child. She imagined she could feel it, the untold tiny sperm, all swimming up towards their final destination with the same determination of Mr. Collins, a resilient, undeniable force bent on a singular purpose. Of course it was in her head; of course she couldn't really feel them, moving around, swimming up, racing towards her egg so that they could implant themselves in it.

Of course she was imagining it, all of it.

Of course she was.

*

Collins slumped heavily, resting all of his weight on Sarah's back. His member, still enraged, remained inside her. Sarah buckled and held a moment before succumbing to his massive weight. She lowered her upper body until it rested on the platform, mashing the girth of her breasts against his restraining hands.

She felt Collins rapid steamy breath on her back, his hairy legs pushed against her own, the insistence of his body pressed resolutely against everything she considered her own. His fingers finally let go their grip about her nipples, releasing the distended tips of her breasts so as to withdraw his hands. As he removed his weight from her back, beads of sweat fell from his chest onto the small of her lower back, splashing softly before running down the center towards her neck.

Aghast, Sarah fought back the sob that threatened to spill over, sure that tears and sorrow would disastrously follow. This was not a time for weakness—what was done was done and now was the time for clarity of thought and iron-like resolve.

"Or perhaps that should be, finally, a properly fucked woman."

Just then, an earth shattering crash shattered the quiet Georgia night. Sarah jerked her head towards the door, unable to believe what she had just heard.